


To the Radio Demon on His Birthday

by paperficwriter



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is Charliesexual, Burlesque, F/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Characters Are Around, Pinup Charlie, Sex, Sort of a Future AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22932541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperficwriter/pseuds/paperficwriter
Summary: It's Alastor's birthday, and really he doesn't want much...just Charlie.
Relationships: Alastor/Charlie Magne
Comments: 11
Kudos: 254





	To the Radio Demon on His Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a request and I sort of fell down the rabbit hole of this series. I'm genuinely pretty into it, and I had an absolute blast writing this. It's a really fun setting, and the characters are colorful.

“And now...the weather.”

A pause, and then, a short barking laugh.

“Oh, can you imagine a segue like that? Here, in fair Pentagram City, where the temperature only ever changes from mildly suffocating to infernal to cataclysmic? And that last one is just the very late season…recent indeed, my fair listener.”

Alastor gazed forward out the window of his radio station at the literal hellscape below. From this high up, he made out all manner of sinner souls making their way through the streets -- stalking, hawking, talking, some even just walking -- as they arose from their hideaways, the most recent purge only a few days before.

The studio wasn’t actually much, but it looked the part, which was the most important thing in Alastor’s eyes: all black and red and wired. Always wired. None of this wireless nonsense that Vox and Velvet seemed so keen on. No, no, that wouldn’t do. He sat at his wooden table that shined black as onyx, in his ebony leather chair with the crimson oak accents, and even as he held his own microphone, the one that was as a part of him as the crescent moon smile on his face, he leaned forward into another one that glowed with an infernal red energy. There were only a few other things on the desk other than the long snakes of wires coming from the mic and the switchboard: a red phone that only rang when he wanted it to, a pad of paper that never ran out, a blood ink pen, and two photos.

One of his mother, and the other...

_ Screech _ . Below, a car swerved and went through a small crowd of miniature demons, the maniac behind the wheel laughing through the opened window...but not for long. Alastor smiled as the ‘victims’ grew into huge forms, massive and rippling with muscle, and peeled the top of the car open like a sardine can, pulling the driver out and tearing him apart like an old doll.

He wouldn’t be dead for long, but his body was swept into one of the piles with the Exterminated demons nevertheless.

“Ah, yes, the days following a visit from halo bombers, the masked assassins, our winged adversaries...the red dawn is all the more bright in our eyes, is it not? I’m sure that I do not need to tell you where I will be spending my evening by week’s end, do I?”

Frankly, he’d rather not, truth be told. He’d much rather keep these events to himself, stow them away like trinkets and baubles, just for himself. But, well, and risk what, then? The chase, the challenge, it all keeps things so entertaining.

And he would never risk getting bored when it comes to  _ her. _

“Returning to her weekly toe tapping and tasteful twirling, our very own Princess Charlie Magne will grace Mimzy’s club. I know that I’ll certainly be in attendance, though, as always, only the friendliest reminders that…” 

Alastor’s voice took on a staticky, growling consistency. Anyone listening - everyone listening - would get that feeling down their backs, the one that accompanies nails on chalkboard and knives sharpening against one another. They would see the gathering of sigils and the crispy edges of something like  _ erasure  _ at the corners of their eyes. And they would know Alastor was smiling still, smiling wide, smiling at their discomfort and their expense.

**_“The polite rules of the show dictate one looks with their eyes and not with their hands.”_ **

And just like that, the miniature nightmare would be adjourned, and in his bright vibrant accent, Alastor gave his send-off. “Thank you for joining us, all you damned here and there! From Pentagram City, the Radio Demon wishes you a fond goodnight, and remember…”

He leaned forward into the microphone he held and the one on his desktop both. Alastor stared into the eyes in the other photograph, the one of Charlie herself in all her demonic splendor. The huge body of her hair decorated just so with black lilies and strings of diamonds, wearing a corset with stockings and dangerously high heels, the kind that added miles to her already endless legs.

Her nose crinkled just so, and in pretty handwriting to her right: To Al, my biggest fan! With love, Charlie. P.S. Don’t forget!...

He read the last line aloud.

“Keep smiling.”

\---

When Alastor was out for a night on the town, he always wanted to walk wherever he was going. Certainly, he could be there as simple as picturing the place in his mind, then riding the shadows and whisking himself effortlessly through an eldritch underground. The very same power that he harnessed to broadcast his voice, his acts, through the Nine Circles of Hell, even that would be sufficient to do something as simple as move him from one place in Pentagram City to the other.

But no. The simple locomotion of walking, putting one foot in front of the other, aware of the people and creatures and things around him, it was like New Orleans again. Not in scenery - nothing beat the French Quarter on a night in July, when you wore the heat like a second suit - but in action and energy. 

So many bodies. The very pulse of life in Hell worked itself like a torn artery gushing rather than a heart beating. Even dead, it was alive, in a realm where there should be nothing there were jobs and money and drugs and somehow even the emotions that should have extinguished with humanity’s mortal coil. After all, the people themselves didn’t look like “people,” really; their demonic countenances were of their own making, redesigned and reflecting the way they saw themselves. And yes, perhaps, some looked more humane than others. Alastor himself kept some semblance of himself from when he was Alastor Alive instead of Alastor, Radio Demon.

Though given the almost cartoonish apparitions around him, screaming for shots and blow jobs and booze...some were more creative than others with how they chose to show themselves off.

And then he came to the front of Mimzy’s, where saloon-style doors had been painted a too-bright pink (“How can you say they’re too bright, Al?! They’re the shade of your eyes!” “One of many shades, old friend, and I don’t have to look on them myself, now do I?”) and Vaggie stood as bouncer, brandishing that Exterminator’s spear like it was equal parts protection and comfort. 

She was leaning on it, and he took his microphone and gave it a tap, nearly sending her sprawling. Vaggie snarled as she righted herself, about to brandish the blade in his direction before she recognized who he was. “The first rule of good customer care, my dear!” he said in lieu of a greeting. “Service with a smile!”

“Qué te den por culo,” she growled venomously, pulling at a piece of her hair in aggravation, her one eye narrowed and the ‘x’ on the other side of her face pulsing in rage.

“Oh no, thank you!” He didn’t give her a backwards glance as he headed in, waving his hand to magically part the crowd that had, as always, so rudely positioned themselves in the way of the club proper. “I’m quite taken!”

Or he would be, Satan willing. If Charlie would just say yes.

Mimzy had made a few renovations to the place over the last fifty years or so, to match the culture of the world above...or at least to try. What resulted was frankly a bit of a mishmash, but the chaos of it, the unpredictability, how it was always just a little different each time he came in...that’s what kept Alastor returning.

There were these thick poles with shapes cut into them to make them look like the  Copacabana  in the fifties...and over time there were pieces missing from them, or phone numbers scratched into their porcelain facade. Then there was the black and white checkerboard floor, splashed with dark stains that had long since burned themselves into the varnish, the disco ball above with the jagged edges that reflected menacing glints like knife blades when it caught you at the wrong moment.

And there was the stage...that glorious stage, its red velvet curtains disappearing into shadows high above everyone’s heads, the band beside it as well as all kinds of sound equipment that was much too modern for a man of Alastor’s taste.

And sometimes, if he would stare long enough at stage left, he would see just the flick of a feathered boa, or, if he was lucky, a half of Charlie’s gorgeous face, smiling and blushing as she couldn’t help but sneak a peek at everyone who had come to see her show, her burlesque, gift to Hell that no one but Alastor  _ really  _ deserved.

Certainly not the hoarde on the floor. Definitely not the  _ whores  _ he had to share his special accomodations with.

At the VIP table, there were far too many of the Overlords in attendance: Vox, of course, Valentino, Velvet and there was the owl one too, tonight...that one was royalty from some other area of this world, but Alastor wasn’t entirely sure from where. Stolas, that was his name. He had tried to forget because the way he spoke so softly to Charlie made him want to choke him and turn those long legs of him into a knot until--

“Well, look who decided to drop by.”

Alastor snapped out of his homicidal daze, his smile fresher, eyes bright and full and attentive. “Vox, you are as astute as you are asinine. How are you, old sport?”

The face on the screen rolled its eyes as the Radio Demon took his seat on the outside of their crescent moon booth. A haze of smoke that smelled like both tobacco and something far more  _ herbal  _ already hung like gray clouds above their heads. Everyone already had empty glasses in front of them, in all forms for wine, liquor...even a coconut? Complete with a little umbrella. How tropical.

Alastor snapped his fingers, and from near the door, he could hear a scuttling of tiny feet, and an impish voice. “Excuse me! Pardon me! Move, move, move, mo-- oh, hello, sailor! I’ll be back in a minute,  _ get out of my way!” _

When Niffty appeared at his side, blinking up at him with her one huge eye, her arms were full of three mixed drinks, a silver and bakelite cigarette holder and a tin box of Lucky Strikes. “Great job, Niff! You always know exactly what I like.”

“Anything for you, Mr. A!”

Velvet sneered as she took yet another picture of the stage to add to her online photo album, an act that Alastor never really understood. How was she supposed to be in the moment when she was so occupied with giving people proof she was there? “We all know you could literally do all that yourself, Alastor. Why do you always have to bring your help everywhere you go?”

“Why, mixing drinks like this is one of Niffty’s many talents,” he said as he watched her disappear back into the crowd. He pulled out one of the Lucky Strikes and affixed it to the accessory, lighting it with a flick of his thumb. It burned sweetly as he took a drag and followed it with a sip of the drink. He  _ would  _ use his magic to make sure the ice didn’t melt. He wasn’t a monster, after all, drinking watered-down old fashioneds. “And she likes to come to the club to oggle the real men, although she certainly won’t find any in this vicinity.” His eyes shifted quickly between the three Overlords. 

Perhaps he would have given them a hard time for a little longer - it was a fun pastime after all - but just then a tinkle of piano keys carried itself across the assembled, signifying the start of the show. For the most part, everyone in the area facing the stage quieted down, but there were a few lesser demons who decided they could continue childishly shrieking laughter unrelated to the  _ class act  _ that was coming.

And if portals opened beneath them to send them ten miles away from the show, Alastor is sure he wouldn’t know anything about that…

The music changed then, the piano accompanied by a lightly static-touched brass introduction. The giant curtain drew itself back to reveal a backdrop reminiscent of the classic circus of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. It made Alastor recall his mother taking him by one Sunday afternoon, near Congo Square, against his father’s wishes, though she cared about as much for the bastard’s opinions as he did. Prints of red and white tents faded with a sepia overtone to show their age, and signs welcomed people to view the freak shows and animal acts. 

One placard had also been made in the same aesthetic, telling one and all to come to the Happy Hotel. Alastor’s smile somehow widened a bit. The sweet lass was going to continue to hold onto that name as long as she could, wasn’t she? 

In the middle, a circular platform had been placed with a candy-striped pole in the center, and just as the jazzy swing came in full force, there she was. Princess Charlotte Magne, Charlie,  _ his  _ Charlie, the Devil willing, tapped her way across the stage wearing something that was a play on a ringmaster’s suit, though certainly not one that any mustachioed man would wear. Her legs were bare but for fishnet stockings and shiny heels outfitted with metal taps, and the black overcoat was cut long in such a way that when she got to the pole and rode it around, the tails swirled around her like a cape.

At first, Alastor was concerned, because above the slightly frilly panties she wore that had been styled to look like black pinstripe pants, above the  _ very  _ form fitting blouse and bowtie, her signature flowing hair was missing. The only thing that sat atop her beautiful head - long lashes, red cheeks, shining black lips - was a fairly standard top hat. 

But then, as an electric current carried through the music, she reached up with one gloved hand and took it off, the cascades of thick tresses, the full body of gorgeous blonde hair, opened up and floated into perfect place on her shoulders and down her back.

The onlookers  _ roared  _ and only then did Alastor realize that he had burned down an entire cigarette without even enjoying a puff from it. He got another going as she tossed the hat into the crowd, and Alastor forced himself not to leap into the small mob and take it for himself. He had an image to uphold, after all.

Next, she spun, turning herself around to show how the coat, when removed, fell in a rippling cascade to the floor, kicked away in time with the music’s percussion crashing. And for a moment, she just danced, on the pole, off the pole, her smile dazzling and her eyes sparkling. Charlie loved this, and that was something that truly pulled Alastor in. Certainly it was entertainment, but it wasn’t plastic and glass. It was a real passion, one that showed through every spin on the stage.

Then, it was time for one of Alastor’s favorite parts: the peeling of the gloves. He crosses and uncrosses his legs as he notices her using a new technique. Bending down to stroke her hands over her stockings, she barely lifted one heel before putting the tip of her index finger under it. When she rose, it slid off to reveal her bare arm, her painted nails. 

The other, she pulled off behind her back as she cheekily grinned over her shoulder.

Demons and demonesses both were alternating between swooning and catcalling at the stage, all other conversation and company ignored for the gorgeous Charlie, and the volume only grew as she hopped up on the pole, nimble as a cat, holding it between her thighs as her hands became occupied unbuttoning her shirt.

The music was swelling. It was coming into the bridge and beyond, even the jazz of it picking up a more urgent pace. She had timed it so well, timed it to where she could get right there, to where she tears off the shirt and bow tie both, and when Alastor thought he would finally see her breasts, albeit covered in the tassels or diamonds or whatever she chose to wear on them, there was a black and white corset. She couldn’t leave it like that, could she? He gulped down a whole other drink as she climbed up the pole and began to spin downward, fast and then faster, a whirling dervish of mesmerizing sexuality, her momentum (and probably some well-placed fasteners ready to be released) taking the corset off and sending it over the stage.

As the last notes of the piano carried out the song, so too did gravity carry her to the floor, into the splits, each breast covered with a striped cone, not unlike the pole itself. The thong panty was the only thing keeping what lay between her legs up to the imagination...and even then, not particularly well.

The curtain fell as the assembled rose and cheered, clapping and drooling on the ground. Alastor too...well, the applauding anyway. The girl deserved it for that, yes, yes, she did! Very entertaining indeed!

Always something new! She was brilliant!

He finished his last old fashioned and lit another Lucky Strike, and after only a few minutes, the shrieks of delight returned, because Charlie appeared from the left of the stage, Razzle and Dazzle at each side. She was wearing the top hat again, this time on top of her beautiful hair, and the black and white corset was on. Even over the hum of the masses clamoring for her attention, her heels made their distinct tapping as she walked among them.

Ah, but she was everything he wasn't, wasn't she? Where the crowd parted for him, eyes averted, none keen to get the attention of the Radio Demon, every face was focused on hers, leaning in, wanting for her attention.

"Charlie, over here! Let me buy you a drink, baby!"

"Princess! Lemme give  _ you  _ a show, huh?!"

"Oh baby, what happened?! I liked what you were wearing at the end!"

Even in spite of the less savory comments, the wolf howls and whistles, the catcalls… Her sweet smile never faded. She took their tokens of affection - flowers, roses, boxes of chocolates, hotel cards, napkins with phone numbers - and each one she passed to either Razzle or Dazzle, the little goat demons quickly becoming now like miniature pack mules.

A few she did offer her hand to, and those ones… Those were the ones that made Alastor's lip rise a bit, the cut sigils in his hands begin to burn like his blood would spill and they would go up in flames on the spot, the horrible little wretched--

"Hello there!"

The honeyed sound of her voice was what pulled him away from the brink of homicidal fracturing. It was like a warm wash over his whole body, because there she was, right in front of them.

"I'm so glad you see all of you! The first show after the yearly cleanse is really important to me, for morale. And I think it's good for everyone to see the important figures of Hell here, you know?" She gave a little bow. “So it means a lot that you came. To me.”

"We are delighted, of course, my dear." Stolas stood on his long elegant legs before her, towering even as he bowed. “Your mother is so proud of you, I’m sure.”

Charlie laughed a little. Lilith was always on tour, and Alastor hadn’t seen her in years at this point, which wasn’t as long a time in Hell as on Earth, but...Charlie was still so young, one would think she would try to be there for a few of these wonderful numbers of hers. 

“Cholly,” Valentino drawled in the way only he could, a thick blunt in one of his many hands. “Come on, sweetheart. This dog and pony show is cute, but you could be living the dream if you came to my studio...I’ll make sure you get only the best, baby girl.”

“That’s so sweet, Valentino. But as always, I have to gracefully decline. I--”

“Indeed, Val,” Vox interrupted, leaning forward over the table top, his massive screen reflecting on the surface. “She’s literally the Princess of Hell, what are you going to offer? Blow? Stiff shag carpeting?” He turned on the charm quite literally, his face seeming to change channels to one full of charm and bravado. “Now, Charlotte, what I could offer you is something worth its weight in gold. A  _ business deal.  _ We could air your talent all across the Nine Circles and give a whole new meaning to the  _ boob tube.” _

Charlie took her hand back from where Vox had been cradling it like a valuable object. “Thank you for the offer, Vox, but you know my rule: no making deals. Not with any demon. I’m sure you understand.”

Vox sulked while Valentino laughed in his direction, the acrid smoke from his weed-laced stogie blowing across Vox’s massive face.

As Charlie finally approached him, Alastor waved his hand across the tabletop, summoning two long flutes and the most expensive champagne currently in existence in the world above. Then, with a snap of his fingers, the cork popped off, and the bottle floated through the air and filled up each glass. It was their little ritual, after the show. She was always there to enjoy a glass or two with him, depending on how busy she was. 

And doing it like this also left his hands available to pull Charlie into his lap, and of course she giggled, letting him. “Hi, Al,” she said, with a familiarity that none of the other Overlords received.

“Darling Charlie,” he said, offering her a glass. She took it. 

“So what are you going to offer me? Riches? All of Pentagram City?”

“Ha ha! Oh no,” he said, “no deals from me. You set that tone the day we met, my dear. Remember? No handshakes, no...how did you put it? Voodoo strings attached?”

She drank from the glass, nearly choking on it. “How could I forget?” 

"But I suppose I could try… Just for fun."

She raised an eyebrow, the glass at her lips.  _ Try me, _ her expression challenged.

Alastor's hand moved just a fraction at her waist, squeezing without pulling her too tight. "Perhaps I'll give you the most valuable thing I own. Something that I would never offer to anyone else, even those dearest to me."

"And what would that be?"

With her sitting on his lap, he spoke directly to her and only to her. He would not have a single one of those loathsome busy-bodies hear him, lest he erase them all just for being present. "Me, my dear. This nobody radio spokesman, his monocle and his microphone, all yours, now and forever.”

“But what would you get, Alastor?”

“How could you ask me such a thing, dearest? You, of course, and that on top of an end to my eternal torment of having to watch you from afar every week. I’m sure there would be some other perks too…”

Charlie laughed, but not in a way that seemed to be mocking him. Never like that. Never in a way that made him feel any ill will toward her. Indeed, all he could really feel was an even deeper fondness, a delight in continuing the chase, even though it probably would have made his heart explode if she had indeed said ‘yes.’ “Oh, Al,” she said, giving his shoulder a small smack. “I’m so glad you always come to my shows. You’re so funny, it  _ always  _ makes me smile.”

She leaned in and gave him the softest peck on the cheek before finishing her drink and rising. 

“See you later, Al.”

Alastor just barely held it in before she walked away, until he and his microphone, and frankly the seat that he was in, burst into flames.

\---

June 6. Only a handful of weeks later, and it was Alastor’s birthday. One would think that it wouldn’t mean much to one such as the Radio Demon, but...Alastor loved his birthday. He had fond memories of being treated well on his birthday, and his mother would take him on outings his father wasn’t allowed to go on, and she made him a huge cake.

That’s when he got his first radio. What had she done to get it? He didn’t know. 

After that, it was all history.

Now, he made his way back to Mimzy’s, where the whole place had been opened up for him, for everyone. Electroswing played over several record players in all corners of the club, and although there were probably a few stereos set up, they were out of sight.

“Alastor!” The curvaceous Mimzy pushed several demons bodily away so she could take his hands in hers, giggling while her feather swayed along with her flapper dress. “Happy birthday, love.”

“Mimzy, my gal, you really do know how to throw this old dog a bone, don’t you? Did you invite all my friends?”

“Pssh!” She bumped him in the side. “Honey, you know if it was just your friends this place would be deader than a nail in a coffin!”

They laughed together, just as they always did. And always would, Alastor imagined. No one else had the same kind of twisted sense of humor as he did, after all, or that same certain chemistry, except for maybe--

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the birthday boy himself!”

"Rosie!” Alastor strode up to the black-eyed demon, kissing the air on either side of her cheeks while she did the same. “A pleasure to see you as always, beautiful. So glad to have you show tonight.”

“Why, or chance missing out on my dearest friend’s special day?” She reached up to straighten his suit coat and tie. “Not for all the world! Here, my dear. For you.” Presenting a wrapped box with a bow, she placed it into his free hand.

“What could this be? It’s small, so I do hope you didn’t take anything off Vox he’ll miss too much…”

“Oh, you. So nasty, Alastor.” She still laughed behind her hand. 

Alastor slipped his microphone cane under his arm so he could tear past the wrapping paper, open the box and-- “A new monocle! Oh, Rosie, you know me so well.” It was identical to the old one, but it was one of their many birthday traditions. Normally he would have thrown out the old one, but instead he put it in his pocket.

“So that you will never miss sight of the important things, in front of you as plain as the nose on your face.”

There were other gifts too - a free blowjob certificate from Angel Dust, a casino chip from Husker that said ‘UP’ on one side and ‘YOURS’ on the other, a promise for a fanfiction commission from Niffty (he didn’t exactly understand that one) - but then, an hour into the night, he saw her, and even just her presence was enough to make every birthday but this one mean nothing.

Charlie wore a champagne dress in the fashion of the twenties, not as short as the flapper skirts but with a long slip up the side. Her heels looked like they were made of glass, and there were sparkling jewels in a band across the top of her hair, pushed back in all its splendor from her face. Her long gloves were gold, as was the glitter atop her beautiful eyes, which caught his with a smile.

Someone was talking to him. He immediately walked away in mid-sentence.

No one could be as important.

“Good evening, Miss Charlie,” he greeted, the static in his words evening out to the soft velvet tone of his natural speaking voice. “Gosh, you sure do look pretty tonight.”

“Happy birthday, Al,” she said, tucking a long lock of hair behind her ear. “It seemed like the type of occasion I would like to be presentable for.”

She offered him her hand. He took it. And when he pressed his lips to it, she didn’t pull away.

“I didn’t think I’d see you,” he said, though he didn’t seem serious, which made her smile.

“Oh no?”

“I thought you would be hiding in a cake until midnight.”

There it was, her laugh again, bright and vibrant and slightly musical, like windchimes in a hurricane. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Not especially.” He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her to a quiet corner where there was a high-top table he could lean on, a window overlooking the city behind: the clocktower, the red landscape, and above, a hint of Heaven, the silverish orb cut by clouds. Though he didn’t like gazing at it for too long; when one looked at Heaven, it would end up feeling like Heaven was looking back. “Because then everyone else would get to watch you too, and it truly is hard on a man, already having to share every week…”

“Well,” she said, reaching out to tug the cuff of his sleeve. “I’m not always doing it for all of them, you know. Sometimes I just have one or two people in mind, who could be out in the crowd…”

“If only you tell me who the other person is, I could casually introduce them to massive bodily harm. By complete coincidence, of course. An unfortunate accident! Ha ha!”

“Alastor!” There was a smile she hid, even though she did playfully slap his shoulder. “Promise me you’ll never hurt someone over me. I’m not going to stand to lose sleep over the thought that you would do something untoward and damn yourself even more, in light of what I’ve been trying to do with the hotel.”

Alastor tipped his head at a rather sharp angle, his smile never even faltering. “Well, dearest, I’ll consider it, but...I guess that all depends on one thing…”

“And what’s that?”

His red eyes grew heavier, and he gazed at her from top to bottom. When he spoke, the words came out a dark tease. “What did  _ you  _ get me for my birthday, Princess?”

Charlie’s mouth opened and then closed, and Alastor really did intend to laugh and tell her that he was only teasing, that her presence, that the time that he could spend with her was gift enough. But then, she was grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the stage. “I have just the thing,” she said, her eyes and face lit up with excitement. “Come with me, Al, I know just the thing.”

Beneath the surface, Alastor’s heart beat fast, a snare drum facing a repetitive beating while a whole line of dancers Lindy-Hopping across it. But he wasn’t about to show how thrilled he was. 

“That is, if I’m not stealing you away,” she said, pausing.

“My dear girl, by all means, it would be my pleasure to be stolen by you.”

She giggled, and they were off. Through the silent dark behind the curtain, down a small hall to the currently locked-up VIP lounges. 

“Are you going to give me a dance?” he guessed.

“Not just any dance,” she said as she closed and locked the door behind him. Turning on the light, the room glowed with a soft yellowish burn, not blinding but creating a shimmer across a black couch and a table so clean that the ceiling above - glittering with pieces of glass that had been embedded into the surface like stones under a river - reflected off of it.

And then she moved a black velvet cloth, and underneath...the biggest martini glass that Alastor had ever seen.

“It’s a dance  _ no one  _ has ever seen,” she murmured, crawling across the table into his lap. She reached behind him - oh, the smell of her, honey dust and a little gingery, across her skin, lips so close - and pulled out a bottle of champagne, a glass and his favorite Lucky Strikes. “I was going to debut it next week...and I was thinking you would get a preview.”

The corners of Alastor’s mouth went softer, and he lit up one of the cigarettes, blowing the plume of smoke into a heart over her head. “That, darling, would be an honor.”

With a little trill of delight, Charlie hopped off the couch, much to Alastor’s disappointment. She went over to a stand that held a music device of some kind, a stereo, and she picked at the settings. 

“I certainly hope I haven’t taken someone’s spot,” he commented, glancing at how conspicuously  _ clean  _ the space was.

“I use this area as rehearsal space. Sometimes Vaggie will come hang out with me and give me some notes, but...Angel Dust doesn’t get to know. I don’t trust him not to use it.”

“Very wise.” He popped the cork off the champagne bottle, and it tickled his nose as he smelled it. Pink, and strawberries, and bubbles. Very Charlie. He poured a glass and drank it, setting the bottle on the table. “Ready when you are, vixen.”

She blushed over her shoulder as she straightened, and just like that, the room filled with the sound of trombones, horns and great orchestral instruments, like there wasn’t one but several big bands playing in the corners of the room. 

Charlie spun around, her gown following her as she pointed a finger at the glass. It filled with champagne, like it was pouring from a giant bottle in the ceiling. 

And then the dance began. Alastor stared up at her adoringly as she kicked her long legs in time to the music, twisting with her hips and raising her hands like she was dancing with an invisible partner. She brought up her hands like she was putting them on someone’s shoulders, and when she stepped back, her gloves magically slid off. 

When she looked up at the glass, she did a little twirl before she removed her jewels: the necklace at her neck, the bracelet she wore...even that seemed lurid in a way, even though she was probably just being practical so they wouldn’t be lost in the liquid. Then, the band of dazzling jewels came out of her hair and it flowed all the bigger, full of volume, an entirely separate beast on her head.

Now that no one was here, to see him, to see  _ her,  _ Alastor allowed himself a whistle. She winked. Such a coy, vampy thing…

Although they weren’t the tap shoes like she had at the circus show, she did a little stepping across the stage with such casual skill that he didn’t realize she had stepped out of the glassy heels until she was flipping herself upside down on the pole-like stem of the martini glass. Then, she expertly bent, grabbing the edge and swinging herself up.

Alastor had figured that would be it, that she would be in the basin of champagne, soaked to the bone. But no; as her toes touched the other side of the glass, she lifted herself above it, not even the hem of her beautiful gown skimming the surface.

The gown that was quickly kicked off as she did a handstand on the edge of the glass’s lip.

“Oh my,” Alastor sighed to himself, trying to be as covert as possible as he reached down the rearrange himself. How could this be happening? He was usually so aware of himself, able to control his  _ animal nature _ , as it were, but...there was something about being here, like this, alone with her…

Alone with her, in a shimmering corset, those legs - sweet Lucifer, those legs - adorned with garters and stockings that went from her thighs to her toes as they spun around like a ballerina doll in a music box around the glass.

Then, she bowed, her back to him, and leaned down low to trail her fingers up from ankles to the clasps, unsnapping them and allowing the stockings to loosen. Her hands went to the corset binding at her back and made quick work of pulling the strings out of their knot, though it was clearly some magic in how they disbanded after that…

When she glanced over her shoulder at him, the curve of her back and waist coming into view, he could still only see just what she wanted him to see; none of her breasts, not even her ass.

Not until she did a little pirouette and took her frilly white panties off, tossing them in his general direction.

He launched himself from his seat, then. The champagne in his glass had been drunk but the bottle fell with a crash as he grabbed them, burying his face in them, eyes rolling in his head. They went into his jacket pocket.

Finally, once the stockings had been peeled off her legs while she held them at a straight angle above her head, the music reaching its crashing conclusion, Charlie finally met the water with a delighted laugh, her bare body covered in the bubbles as she kicked her feet, hair spilling over the edge.

When the room became silent again, she gazed at him and breathily asked, “How was that?” She didn’t make a move to get out. Only batted her long lashes at him.

Now, Alastor was a man of principle. His moral compass, though broken and put back together with glue, kept him on a straight path. Not a proper one, or one that most people would find  _ right  _ or  _ kind,  _ let alone good...but he would certainly never take advantage of someone in the situation that Charlie had created for herself.

That said...he also knew an invitation when he saw one.

So off went his jacket, at least, because that was the only thing he had the energy or concentration to deal with. One nimble hop later and the champagne splashed in the martini glass as he got inside, immediately soaked through and between Charlie’s legs.

No pasties this time. Not even a thong. Only her creamy skin, pert pink little nipples, a happy little shriek and a smile. Sweet. Devoid of any ignorance as to what she wanted. Which was obviously him.

Their first kiss was like an entire lifetime without kissing that had led to this moment. She was grabbing his hair and pulling him in, even though it made her slip a little below the surface. He brought her back up, pressed into his front, and licked the champagne from her lips.

“Al…” Before he could interrupt her, she sucked his bottom lip and gasped, “I’ve wanted you to do that forever. What took you so long?”

“Obviously my predilections of coming off as a gentleman, dear girl.” He picked a strand of wet hair from her face, pushing it back. Already, his long body dragged between her legs, and she grabbed his shirt. “A bias I am finding myself stripping away as we speak…”

“Instead of your pants?” Her cheeks glowed pink, and he could tell that even though she was trying to be bold, part of her wondered if this was really happening. Just as well as he was, frankly. A tiny part that he was smothering, but...a part nevertheless.

“Those will come too, in time,” he whispered, mouth finding her neck, so soft, sinful in how easy it was to nip and bite at, although she was eagerly reaching down to hold his small waist tight against her body. The wet clothes should have been more bothersome, and yet he just simply could not be bothered to deal with them as he rutted against her thigh.

“Al...Alastor…”

Beneath the water, he could see the sweet little tuft of blond over her mound, and his long fingers parted her folds easily, pressing two in and using his thumb on her clit. The bud was hard, and it made him wonder what it would be like to do this in a place where they both were not submerged, to feel how wet she could get. After all…

“I could smell your arousal on those undergarments you gave me,” Alastor cooed, dropping his head down to her breast and dragging his teeth. “I think you knew I would, Princess…”

“Don’t say things like that.” She was whining, opening her legs wide until her dainty feet made a skidding noise against the angled sides of the glass. “I can’t handle it…”

“Do all your dances get you wet? Or is that just for me?” She didn’t answer, hiding her face in his shoulder, shaking hands so close to orgasm clawing at his back. He would cherish those scratch marks… “Be mine and I promise there would be more…”

As if on the cue of saying that, he pulled his fingers out, which wrung a frustrated half-groan from her, but the loss was quickly replaced by his cock that had been pulled out of his pants, pushed down only far enough to free it. Grabbing her with one hand and the edge of the glass with the other, he thrust in hard, and she immediately started to fall apart, already hovering on the cliff face of her pleasure, now plummeting down into it…

Until he pulled her back, slowing the roll of his hips, making shudder. “What...nooo...Al…”

“Don’t make me beg.” Maybe it was the exertion of taking her like this, but it came out like a crooning under his breath, like his own song. “Don’t make me wait anymore. You know I can treat you so well, Charlie...I can be so good to you…”

“Good…” She kissed him again, tongue in his mouth, feeling over his sharp teeth. “So good…”

When he urged her legs around him, he fit so perfectly, tight and close, filling her with him as he moved in with rhythmic, repetitive thrusts, his eagerness apparent as he panted around her lips, sucking her jaw as the edges of reality blurred, like the end of a radio station before the knob is turned to static. 

“Please, Charlie...please...be mine, or erase me from this afterlife. I would rather be the Overlord of nothing, if you won’t have me…”

“D-don’t...mmm, yes, yes, right there... don’t say that…” When he pulled back from him slightly, meeting his gaze, her eyes were conflicted with desire and emotion. “You mean...more to me than anything. I am so glad that you exist…just...let me…!” 

The girl was insatiable, it seemed. Although he was being rather cruel, wasn’t he...withholding her delight. Alastor flipped her over, a new, full moan of delight coming from her lips as he went at her from another angle. He was following her close now in pursuit of his peak, climbing, a hand reaching under her to grope at her chest. “Then...mmm, let us share this existence...please, Charlie...say you’ll be mine, I will show you true ecstasy…I--”

“Yes!! You...mmmmm, you win, Alastor...please, please let me come…!”

Twisting her head to face him, she kissed him as he found the apex of her heat again and rubbed, both of them coming, and he filled her up with him and for a moment, his hearing going to a flatline, a steady tone of nothing, and in his shadow he could see his own demonic smile, his antlers sprout, his body growing to tower above the world. Everything filled with that endless pleasure, that loss of control, and he blacked out from it.

“--tor. --Astor? --Alastor!”

The sound of her voice called him back, and when he awoke, he was collapsed beside her in the martini glass. Now, the sensation of carbonated fluid soaking through his clothes was a little more prevalent, but he smiled. “You took my breath away, my dear!”

She laughed, leaning up to kiss his cheek. This one lingered, different from the ones she always gave him at the club. “Did you hear me?”

“My ears are still ringing, in fact.”

“Not that,” she said, giving him a little splash. “My answer...I gave you an answer, Alastor. After...well, all that.”

Stroking her wet hair back, Alastor rubbed at the top of her ear between his fingers. “Tell me again…”

\---

It is a few weeks later. They are at Mimzy’s together in their own private booth, and the Overlords are glowering from their normal station. Charlie is in a corset with a silky negligee over it, and although she isn’t performing, there’s nothing saying that she’s not going to give Alastor a private show.

After Alastor’s birthday, she had intended on performing the martini glass act, but then she reconsidered.

“I want to tweak it,” she says from Alastor’s lap as they sip yet more champagne. He would have thought she’d be tired of it, but she still wants it. She says she’ll only drink it with him now, but they’ll see. “After how your birthday went, I kind of want it to be special. Just for us.”

“You’re going to make me blush.” Then, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small box. “Speaking of things that are special, I might have gotten something for you, love.”

Charlie opens the box to find the monocle he replaced during his birthday with the one from Rosie. It has been threaded onto a silver chain, and she holds it to her chest. “I love it. Put it on me?”

He does, sneaking a kiss onto the nape of her neck. It sits perfectly between her breasts.

“Perhaps in time I’ll get you something else that’s round...and smaller. And you’ll wear it somewhere else.”

Charlie’s lips curl into a smile, and she picks up her glass, eyebrows raising. He knows exactly what she wants.

“To my dear Princess Charlotte Magne,” he says, voice full and triumphant. “My beautiful lady, my demoness, love of my unlife. My one and only.”

She lets her glass touch his with a soft  _ tink  _ and she tips her head to whisper, “Yours,” before slipping into one of many kisses.


End file.
